


I Ain’t Who You Think

by theHunter_and_theNinja



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, In-character racist language, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theHunter_and_theNinja/pseuds/theHunter_and_theNinja
Summary: The year is 1977 and Connie Ridloff is the 17-year-old daughter of a wealthy banker. Daryl Dixon is a 17-year-old poor boy whose father and brother are two of their town’s most outspoken racists.What happens when worlds collide and the two fall in love in a town that sees their love as wrong?Chapter 6 is up!
Relationships: Connie/Daryl Dixon
Comments: 28
Kudos: 65





	1. Not Him

Daryl leaned back against the side of the local gas station smoking a cigarette while absentmindedly listening to his brother talk shit about something. This was a normal occurrence for them. Almost every day Merle would find the time to rant about things he didn’t like while Daryl pretended to listen. The rants were often waterlogged with racist, homophobic and sexist remarks. Opinions that while Daryl didn’t share, he couldn’t refute out loud if he wanted to avoid getting his ass beat.

His father had nearly killed him when he said that he agreed with women having the right to vote. They’d gotten that right back in the 1920s, 40 years before Daryl was born, but his father was still bitching about it. He believed that it gave them too much power and say and that soon there’s be women in the white house messing everything up with their emotion fueled, liberal ideas.

Daryl disagreed with his father about women in politics too. He hoped there’d be more women in politics soon to balance out the testosterone fueled, warmongers there already. Daryl really didn’t want to get drafted to go fight and die in a war he disagreed with for rich politicians he doesn’t know or like.

“Damn commies,” Merle growled, “I wish we’d just go to war with them right now.”

“Why would you want that?” Daryl asked dropping the spent cigarette onto the ground and crushing it under his boot, “You really want to go live in dirty army camp and risk your life everyday as a soldier?”

“Hell yeah,” Merle turned to look at him, “Killing chinks wouldn’t weigh heavily on me, little brother. Besides, I could use the target practice.”

Daryl bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from mouthing off at Merle.

“You wouldn’t be fighting the chinese,” Daryl reminded him, “It’s the Russians and their allies we’re in a cold war with.”

Merle shrugged, “Maybe so, but you and I both know they’d join the fight. Their leaders are tight.”

“Great, that means two superpowers trying to kill us. Still like the idea of an active war?”

“I wouldn’t say I like it, just that I wouldn’t mind it. Don’t you think it would be great to go off and fight for your country?”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably against the wall, not knowing how to respond in a way that would tell Merle his opinion without getting a black eye.

“I’d just rather not have to live overseas,” Daryl swallowed nervously, “I like being here better. I don’t want to be dragged across the country to fight an enemy I can’t see.”

Merle grabbed Daryl’s shoulder and roughly slammed it back against the wall, causing Daryl to flinch.

“You best watch that lazy sense of duty, brother,” Merle hissed leaning into his space, “Or the next thing you know you’ll be homeless and shooting the shit with a bunch of niggers.”

This time Daryl did bite his tongue and didn’t respond to his brother’s racist warning. Merle pushed him away and started off on a new branch of his age old rant, but now his was complaining about blacks believing they’re equal to whites. Daryl sighed and leaned back heavily against the wall, wishing he had enough guts to speak his mind.

* * *

 _“Are you excited for homecoming next month?”_ her nanny, Ms. Tiana, asked as walked with Connie on her way to school.

She didn’t walk with her everyday, but she had to go to the market to pick of some produce for the house, so today they walked together. Kelly wasn’t in high school yet, so she went by a different route to the middle school.

Connie shook her head, _“No. Nobody’s asked me to be their date yet, so I might just not go.”_

_“Couldn’t you go with a friend?”_

_“All of my friends have dates. I’d be a third wheel all night long.”_

Ms. Tiana tried to lift her spirits, _“There’s still time for someone to ask you.”_

Connie shook her head sadly, _“Just admit it, nobody wants to go to a dance with a deaf girl.”_

_“Now Ms. Ridloff, I’m sure there’s some nice boy out there who’d love to take you to a party. Maybe he’s just shy.”_

Connie sighed, _“Maybe, just please don’t tell my Dad. I don’t want him to hire someone to take me to the dance again like he did last year. It was so humiliating.”_

A flash of black steel out of the corner of her eye caught Connie’s attention. She looked over at the road to see a white man, probably no older than her, speeding by on a old Harley Davidson motorcycle. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, so she could see his face and she recognized him as Daryl Dixon.

Her lip curled in disgust as his name flashed through her head. His older brother is Merle Dixon, a very outspoken racist that liked to call anyone who wasn’t white racist slurs for fun. She’d never interacted with the younger Dixon brother, but she was sure he holds the same views as the rest of his family. He was just quieter and kept more to himself than Merle and his father.

It’s no secret that Daryl’s father is a drunk. The man practically lives at one of the bars in uptown Senoia known for being a “whites only” kind of place. The Jim Crow laws were repealed over ten years ago when she was just five years old, but some people in their remote Georgian town still liked to live by them. William Dixon would often leave the bar drunk off his ass and wander around the town shouting obscene and offensive things at people. He’d even attacked a young black girl when she’d talked back to him, putting her in the hospital with a broken leg and two cracked ribs.

 _“See something you like?”_ her nanny asked, raising her eyebrows.

Connie shook her head, _“That’s Daryl Dixon, brother and son of two of the most violent racists in town. I wouldn’t go out with him if somebody offered me a million dollars to do so.”_

 _“Sorry, I didn’t realize that was the younger Dixon,”_ Ms. Tiana apologized, _“I’ve never seen him in person with a name attached before since I keep mostly to our side of the neighborhood as per your father’s request.”_

Connie’s Dad, Mr. Ridloff, is fairly wealthy banker working at the local bank. He was among the first black employees there and had worked his way up the ranks to working just under the head of the bank, Mr. Gregory Berkeley. Mr. Berkeley is a weasel according to her father, but also extremely lazy meaning her father essentially ran the bank at this point.

She knew some black families were jealous of their success and others even hated it, saying that her father was a traitor for working with the white man to take money from them. That fact was probably playing a role in her lack of finding a beau for the dance as well.

Once they reach the place where Connie would turn off towards her high school while Ms. Tiana went on, she hugged her nanny goodbye.

 _“You have a good day at school, Ms. Ridloff,”_ Ms. Tiana said as she waved her off towards the school yard.

Connie hefted her books in her arms and made her way from the sidewalk to the main courtyard out in front of her school. Students were milling around and talking happily to their friends as they waited for classes to begin. Connie looked around for her best friend Sasha as she made her way through the crowds to the main doors.

She jumped in shock when she felt someone grab her ass. She whirled around to see who did it and was greeted by the sight of a group of white guys clearly laughing at what one of them had done. One of the guys, Dwight, high fived another one, Spencer Monroe, congratulating him. Her eyes unwillingly fell onto Daryl who was standing with them, but not laughing. Instead he looked uncomfortable by what was going on, but he didn’t step up to defend her.

She marched up to Spencer and grabbed him by his shirt.

 _“Fuck you!”_ she sighed aggressively, throwing her middle finger up in his face for good measure.

“Sorry,” he cackled, removing her hand from his shirt, “I don’t speak mime.”

He then proceeded to make fun of her disability by waving his arms around his body. The guys started laughing harder, all except for Daryl who remained silent. She was confused as to why he wasn’t joining in with his buddies to humiliate her, but it intrigued her. She shook the thought out of her head angrily, she didn’t care why he wasn’t participating. He wasn’t standing up for her either, so he was just as bad as his friends.

She bit her tongue stomped off towards the school, wanting to get as far away from them as she could. People like Daryl Dixon and his friends aren’t worth her time.


	2. Not Funny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not usually this fast at writing another chapter, but after all the nice feedback I got yesterday I couldn’t help myself.
> 
> It normally takes me a couple days to get each chapter written and up depending on my schedule.

Daryl felt guilt and shame well up in the pit of his stomach as he watched Connie storm off. He’d wanted to stand up and stop his friends—if you could call them that—from harassing her, but if word got back to his brother and father about him defending a black girl, they’d kill him. He knew how it must look to her, him not joining in but also not stopping it and defending her. It made him look like a sexist asshole, just like the rest of his friends.

He’d tried to hide in the background of the scene, but her gaze had landed directly on him, like she was calling him out for being a coward. She’d scrunched up her nose and curled her lip in disgust at him before leaving. Today had been the first time she’d ever really looked at him and it was a look filled with hatred. It wasn’t exactly the impression he wanted to have on her.

He’s had a crush on her since freshman year and it made him feel like dirt to have her look at him that way. Of course, he’d never told anybody about his feelings for the young black woman, but he would often dream of what it might be like to be with her. For her to look at him, not through him. To look at him and see him and not his brother or friends. Some of his favorite daydreams involved him asking her to homecoming and her actually saying yes.

“What the hell man?” Spencer shoved him, drawing the entire group’s attention to him.

They must’ve noticed he hadn’t joined in and now wanted to know why.

“What?” Daryl spoke defensively, crossing his arms.

“Why weren’t you laughing?” Spencer demanded, getting into his personal space.

Daryl swallowed hard and shrugged, “I just didn’t think it was all that funny.”

“Misplace your balls Dixon?” Dwight jeered making the whole group laugh.

“Shut up!” Daryl snapped back.

“Why wasn’t it funny?” Spencer pressed him, “We’ve done that before and you laughed. You like that nigger or something?”

He felt like an animal trapped in a cage with nowhere to run. He had no explanation and no witty comment up his sleeve to get out of this. His friends were all glaring at him, wanting to know why he’d rained on their parade.

Daryl shrugged, attempting to appear unphased by the questioning, “I don’t know. You know how some jokes are only funny the first or second time, maybe it’s because you’ve done it before that I didn’t find it funny.”

Spencer ran his tongue over his top teeth, “Maybe you’re right. I’ve got to get more creative next time. Doing the same thing everyday is boring.”

The bell rang and Daryl was just barely able to hide his relief at having to leave the courtyard and go inside for class. He dutifully high fived his friends before breaking away from the group and hurrying off to his first class.

On his way there he couldn’t help but think about what he said and prayed he didn’t just make things worse for every woman in the school. He worried about what Spencer meant by “getting more creative.”

* * *

Connie could feel her anger and hatred for those boys writhing inside her as she made a beeline for her locker, hoping that Sasha would be there. She’d wanted to punch Spencer’s lights out for touching her like that, but she knew she was no match for the football jock. Spencer was known for grabbing girls and touching them against their will in the halls of their high school, though it had never gone farther than that, yet.

_ “Good morning!” _ Sasha greeted her with a smile before seeing the look on her face,  _ “Or not. What happened?” _

Sasha’s older brother, Tyrese, had lost his hearing due to an infection a couple years ago and her entire family learned sign language as a result. It was nice that at least one person in this school was able to speak with her in her language.

_ “Spencer,” _ Connie explained as she pulled her locker open with a bit more force than necessary.

Sasha sighed sadly in understanding,  _ “I know what you mean. He got Pansy Carpenter yesterday.” _

_ “I wish there was something we could do about it, but every time we report it all we get is a dumb ‘boys will be boys’ lecture from our principal.” _

_ “It’s probably because he’s one of the school’s best football players. They can’t afford to lose him just because he likes to get a little handsy.” _

_ “A little handsy? You’re starting to sound like Principal Blake.” _

_ “Sorry,”  _ Sasha apologized,  _ “It has been getting worse lately. Homecoming has got all of them acting like horndogs.” _

_ “Doesn’t matter,”  _ Connie snapped,  _ “He shouldn’t be doing it at all.” _

Suddenly, Sasha grabbed her arm and pulled her in, closer to the wall of lockers. Confused, Connie looked behind her only to see Spencer and his gang making their way down the hallway. His eyes landed on her and he grinned wickedly, making an obscene gesture at her with his hands. In response, Connie just pressed her lips into a firm line and glared at him pointedly.

As they passed, she couldn’t help but notice that Daryl wasn’t with them. The fact that she noticed that bothered her a great deal. She acknowledges that he is handsome—as did most girls in the school, but he was also a racist, sexist asshole she wanted nothing to do with. He might not have laughed today, but she’d seen him laugh at other times when Spencer and his friends harassed a different girl.

Connie huffed in annoyance,  _ “This school would be a much better place if they weren’t here.” _

Sasha shrugged,  _ “If it wasn’t them doing it, some other guys would be. Better the devil you know.” _

Connie shook her head in disagreement. Spencer might be the devil they know, but that doesn’t mean they should settle for being treated like objects because they feared having someone worse torment them.

Connie bid Sasha goodbye and headed to class, not wanting to be late for the first time all semester. She’s a top student, often scoring in the top ten of her grade. She never missed a day of school and loved learning. Now if only she could convince her father to let her go to college, she’d be happy.

Her father, no matter how much she loved him, was a traditional man. He expected her to find a husband and get married after high school. He’d already started setting aside some money for her future children’s, namely any sons she had, education. She found it hard to express to him that she wanted to go to college and have a job somewhere. She wants to be a writer and have her books sold around the world. Perhaps she could convince her father that it was possible for her to do both.

_ “Hi Mrs. Rose,” _ Connie greeted her interpreter who was already in the room as she sat down at her desk.

Her father had hired a sign language interpreter to help her understand the lessons without the teacher having to constantly cater to her needs. It made the experience of learning so much easier for everyone involved.

Her interpreter was an older black woman with graying hair and a wide smile. Her two kids were all grown up and her husband, who’d been born deaf like Connie, had passed away a few years ago. She’d been interpreting at their church for Connie for free ever since she was little and, after her husband died, Connie’s father asked her if she would like to help her in school too. Rose had agreed immediately, happy to have a way to pass the time and earn some extra money.

_ “Good morning Ms. Ridloff,” _ she smiled kindly,  _ “That blue dress reminds me so much of your mother. You look just like her. So beautiful.” _

Connie blushed at the compliment,  _ “Thank you.” _

Her mother had been killed in a riot between blacks and whites just after the end of the Jim Crow laws in their town when Connie was just five years old. Kelly hadn’t even been able to walk yet. She hadn’t been participating in the riot, only walking to the store when a stray bullet hit her in the back. She’d died later at the hospital with Connie holding her hand while Kelly cried for her mother in their father’s arms.

Her father had thrown himself into his work after that, hiring Ms. Tiana, her live-in nanny, to raise her and Kelly for him. Connie never doubted her father’s love for her, but she often wished he’d spend more time with his kids. His hard work had gotten them their massive house, their nice clothes, and many other material items that they liked, but she missed her father’s presence.

They’d never officially caught who did it due to lack of evidence, but rumor has it that William Dixon had been brandishing a weapon around the area her mother had been killed. However, so had a bunch of other white supremesists, so it wasn’t really a lead. It was just another reason in her long list of reasons to hate the Dixons.

Speak of the devil, she noticed Daryl walk into the room at take a seat a couple desks over from her. Because of her use of an interpreter, she often sat in the back to avoid distracting others. This often led to her being surrounded by people who didn’t care about school, like Daryl. She hated that they were even in the same class together, let alone just a few desks apart.

* * *

Daryl kept his head down as he waited for class to start. He saw Connie enter the room and greet her interpreter, but that was it. The more reckless side of him wanted to go over and apologize for what happened earlier, but he couldn’t get up enough courage to do it. He’d also probably get his ass kicked if he did that while one of his friends was in the room and sitting right next to him.

Dwight rapped his pencil on the desk beside him, annoying Daryl.

“Could you please stop that?” Daryl groaned, crossing his arms, “It’s super annoying.”

“The hell is wrong with you today, Dixon?” he stared at Daryl like he’d grown another head, “First you ruin our fun outside with that nigger and now you’re bitching about my pencil.”

Daryl shrugged, “Just been on edge lately, that’s all.”

“Is it because you ain’t got a date for homecoming yet?” Dwight asked, “Maybe if you got laid it would take the edge off.”

Daryl highly doubted him getting laid would fix his problem. He was running out of energy with pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

“What about Pansy Carpenter? I heard she’s still looking for a date,” Dwight continued, “And she’s known for giving her all on special occasions, if you know what I mean.”

“You know she’d never agree to go with any of us. Especially not after Spencer felt her up during lunch yesterday.”

Dwight snickered, “Yeah, probably not. What about Susan with the long legs?”

Daryl shook his head.

“Or Paula? Or that new girl Jane? I know both of them ain’t been asked yet.”

“Can you stop?” Daryl snapped, “I ain’t interested.”

Dwight shifted in his chair so that his whole body was facing Daryl. His eyes flicked over his face as he tried to read his friend’s expression.

“Maybe you’d like to ask the deaf girl from this morning?” he wondered, “You didn’t seem to like Spencer touching her.”

Daryl swallowed, doing his best to keep his cool.

“You best shut the hell up,” Daryl warned him.

“Is that it, Dixon?” Dwight sneered, “You want to take a deaf nigger to the dance.”

The fact that he’d hit the nail on the head only made Daryl angrier. He wanted to knock Dwight off his chair for calling her that word, but he knew nothing good would come of it.

“No!” he growled, glaring at his so-called friend, “I don’t want to take anyone to homecoming. It’s stupid.”

“You a homo or something?” Dwight accused, his confusion deepening.

“What!? No,” Daryl defended himself, “Why would you think that?”

He wasn’t a homosexual, but he didn’t know why it mattered right now or at all.

“Cause only a homo wouldn’t be excited about getting laid by a hot babe on homecoming night.”

“I’m not a homosexual,” Daryl reiterated, “I just don’t need a special occasion to get women to have sex with me.”

That was a lie. He’d never had sex before, unlike the rest of his friends. He’d just never been interested in going to bed with anyone who wasn’t Connie. Sure he’d kissed a few girls, but he’d never slept with any of them.

Dwight glared at him, “What are you saying?”

“Nothing, honestly,” he assured him, “I’m just not a huge fan of cliche parties.”

Daryl cleared his throat and bit back his real personality before continuing.

“Now add some booze and strippers and I’ll be there,” he finished, channeling his brother’s birthday parties at the local night club.

Dwight grinned, “I hear you man. Strippers would make homecoming so much more fun.”

Dwight raised his hand for a high five and Daryl reluctantly gave it to him. This morning had been more taxing than most. Daryl breathed a sigh of relief when class finally started.


	3. Assumptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it might be good to say that Daryl looks like a younger version of season 4 Daryl. So long hair, but no facial hair yet.

Daryl leaned back heavily in his chair, his teacher’s voice sounding more akin to Charlie Brown’s teacher than a real life person’s. He didn’t see the point of high school much, plus, he knew he could pass this math class if he was only allowed to attend once a week. He knew where his future after graduation lay. Probably working full time in a greasy mechanics shop changing richer people’s oil and tires.

His family didn’t stress the need for education and, even if they did, he didn’t have enough money to go to college. He knew he was smart enough to make it in college, but those weren’t the cards life had dealt him.

His father is an abusive drunk, his brother is a deadbeat drug dealer, and his mother died in a fire when he was seven. Everyone in his family are known racists and nobody saw anything good coming from anyone with the last name of Dixon. His last name had branded him as trouble since the day he set foot in school. The whole town was just waiting for him to turn out just like the rest of his family.

It’s why he’d fallen into the group of friends he had. They all had similar home lives to him, which—as cruel as they are to others—bonded him to them. Many of them were neighbors, living in the same shitty trailer park with subpar parents. It was only natural for him to become friends with them. The worst part of their proximity though was their direct line to Merle. Any slip ups would be reported back to his brother within hours.

“Mr. Dixon!” Mr. Pierce shouted, causing Daryl to jolt back to reality.

“What?” he snapped, unsure what was going on.

His teacher sighed disapprovingly.

“Welcome back to the present, Mr. Dixon,” he said, his voice tight as he glared at his student.

Daryl crossed his arms and glared back at him, not happy about being called out for his daydreaming.

“As I was saying, I will be putting you all into groups of four to complete today’s worksheet. Mr. Dixon you’ll be with Dwight, Angela, and Connie. You may all move to get into your assigned groups.”

Daryl felt torn as he hears Mr. Pierce assign him and Connie to the same group. He might’ve feel excited if it was just going to be him and Connie working together, but with Dwight in the mix he wasn’t going to be able to be himself. He’d already had her look at him like he was trash once today and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

Daryl reluctantly grabbed the worksheet and his pencil and stood up to go sit by Connie. She signed something to her interpreter, Mrs. Rose, who then left. She must have decided she didn’t need an interpreter to complete the worksheet. Despite how unhappy he was about how they were going to spend time together, he embraced the opportunity and sat down right next to her.

“Hi,” he said, attempting to be friendly.

She glared at him and shifted her seat father away from him. He couldn’t let himself be hurt by that, however, since Spencer had harassed her only half an hour ago.

“It’s nice to finally officially meet you,” he tried, but received no response except her annoyed glare.

It seemed that it was going to take some work to get her to talk to him. But before he could try, Dwight and Angela turned two of the desks in the row in front of them around and sat down.

“How should we do this?” Angela asked, glancing over the worksheet.

“We could split it up and work in pairs?” Dwight suggested, winking at Angela.

Angela nodded, “I like that idea. Daryl and Connie can do the front and we’ll do the back.”

“I’d like to do you,” Dwight whispered to Angela, drawing a blush and high pitched giggle from her.

Daryl glanced over at Connie to gauge her reaction to them working in pairs and was disappointed, though not surprised, to see a look of disapproval on her face. It was really too late to argue, however, as Dwight and Angela had disappeared into their own little world, though they were flirting more than actually doing work. Connie, on the other hand, was already writing down the answer to question number one on their side of the worksheet.

Daryl cautiously tapped her shoulder to get her attention, resulting in an annoyed glare.

“I thought we were supposed to work together?” he said, throwing her a nervous attempt at a friendly half smile.

Her eyes narrowed and she reached into her backpack to produce a notepad. She quickly wrote something down in it and handed it over to him. It must be how she communicates with people who don’t know sign language. Daryl took it and look down at what she’d written.

_“I don’t need or want your help.”_

Daryl was taken aback by her curt tone. He knew she wasn’t his biggest fan, this morning was a testament to that, but he’d tried to be friendly towards her.

 _“I’m smarter than I look,”_ he replied, handing the notepad back to her.

Again she wrote something, but this time set it down on the desk next to her and slid it towards him.

 _“Doubtful,”_ was all it said.

Now he was starting to become pissed off. She barely knew him and she was already making assumptions about him. He’d known that she’d be upset with him about this morning, but not downright rude. He looked down at the worksheet, reading over one of the questions she hadn’t answered yet. He quickly calculated the answer for “x” in his head, not writing down any of his mental math. He wrote the answer down on the notepad and pushed it back towards her wanting to prove her wrong.

* * *

Connie groaned internally as Daryl pushed the notebook back towards her. She really didn’t want to talk to him. She was already angry that they were being forced to work together, but now she was even more angry by the fact that he wouldn’t stop trying to talk to her.

She couldn’t believe it when he’d greeted her like the incident with Spencer had never happened. It was like he expected her to treat him like she didn’t know who he or his family is. She was honestly shocked that he had the balls to pretend like there wasn’t any history between them. An image of the mother dying in a hospital bed flashed through her mind, making her even more disgusted with the boy in front of her.

She didn’t want or need his help, but he kept trying to push her to talk to him. She felt him pass the notepad back to her and she pursed her lips, debating whether or not to even look at it. In the end, she did and she was surprised to see the answer to question five written there.

_“The answer to question five is ‘x = 6.74.’”_

She glanced over at his desk and was shocked to see no work written down on his paper. His calculator wasn’t even on his desk. She knew she was deaf, but she was sure she’d have noticed if he’d gotten up to retrieve it from his desk.

 _“You can’t have possibly figured that out in your head,”_ she wrote, not believing what she was seeing.

 _“I did,”_ he replied, _“I’ve always been able to do stuff like that in my head.”_

Connie couldn’t help but be impressed by his abilities, but she chased those feelings away by remembering why she hated him.

 _“Doesn’t matter,”_ she shook her head, shoving notepad back at him, _“I still want nothing to do with you.”_

* * *

Daryl felt sad as he looked down at the paper in his hand. He’d hoped that his ability to do math in his head would at least get her to let him work with her on the worksheet, but it hadn’t.

He got an idea and wrote, _“I’m sorry about what happened with Spencer this morning.”_

Dwight wouldn’t find out despite sitting right across from them because he was one, very involved in flirting with Angela, and two, able to write it instead of saying it out loud. Connie looked at the paper and frowned, not exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.

 _“Your apology means nothing,”_ she explained, _“You’re no better than Spencer; just another racist, sexist bastard.”_

Daryl couldn’t help but be hurt by her assumptions. They’d never spoken to each other before and she already had him pinned as being no better than his family.

_“I might have to hang out with people who are, but I’m not like them.”_

She read what he’d written and rolled her eyes.

_“Bullshit, I know who your family is. The apple never falls far from the tree.”_

_“What if I did?”_

_“Not possible. You are no better than your family, a bunch of murderers and racists.”_

Daryl had no idea where the murderers comment came from, but now he was both offended and pissed off.

 _“I am not my family,”_ he insisted.

She shook her head, _“If that were true, you’d have stood up for me this morning.”_

 _“I wanted to,”_ he explained, _“but I couldn’t.”_

_“Why not?”_

Now Daryl felt like he was making some positive progress with her. Unfortunately for him, Dwight had noticed his growing anger and decided to get involved.

“Hey Daryl,” he called over to them.

Daryl looked over at Dwight and Connie noticed. She looked over at him as well wondering if they needed help with a question on their side of the worksheet.

“Is that nigger giving you trouble?”

Connie looked at Daryl after she saw Dwight say the slur, staring at him like she was expecting him to defend her. Daryl felt trapped with Dwight’s eyes on him again after he’d just made progress with Connie.

“No, we’re just having a disagreement over the answer to a question,” he told Dwight, hoping it would diffuse the situation.

Connie tapped his shoulder and handed him the notepad.

_“Tell him to stop calling me that slur.”_

Daryl’s heart sank as he read what she’d written, knowing it was the one thing he couldn’t do. It would expose him and threaten his life.

 _“I can’t,”_ he replied, _“I’m sorry.”_

Connie nodded like she’d known all along he wouldn’t do it.

 _“Then you are no better than he is,”_ she snapped, but this time she didn’t give him the notepad to write back to her.

 _“Finish the worksheet yourself. Don’t talk to me anymore,”_ she continued before turning away from him in her seat.

Daryl wanted to tell her the truth so bad, but he couldn’t possibly write it all out on that tiny notepad. He’d need to be alone to speak with her freely and it seemed unlikely that would ever happen. Daryl’s heart broke as his dream of being with her fell even farther from his grasp.


	4. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a love at first sight fic. There’s a lot of baggage that they need to work through before their relationship can start coming together, especially on Connie’s side. She doesn’t trust Daryl, which makes sense with who his family is. She’ll need to overcome that distrust and dislike before she can even start seeing him in a romantic light.

Connie popped another grape into her mouth subconsciously as she thought about her conversation with Daryl in class that morning. Her inability to shake the feeling like there was something else going on with him annoyed her greatly. She’d asked him to stand up for her and he’d refused. That should be the end of it, but her brain wouldn’t stop reminding her about what he’d said before Dwight got involved.

_ “I am not my family... I wanted to, but I couldn’t,” _ is what he’d told her.

Those comments had seemed genuine and he’d actually been really friendly before Dwight interrupted. He’d even apologized to her for Spencer, something nobody had ever done before. Even when he got mad at her he didn’t start hurling insults and slurs, he’d just proved her wrong by showing her he was more than his social reputation. It made her feel bad for being so rude to him.

She was still shocked at his ability to do all that math in his head. He never raises his hand in class and never talks about how good he is at it. It was like he was trying to keep how smart he is a secret.

Connie’s internal analysis was interrupted by her friend Sasha sitting down across from her at the lunch table.

_ “You looked awfully deep in thought before I sat down,” _ Sasha said after placing her tray on the table,  _ “What were you thinking about?” _

_ “Just something that happened this morning,”  _ Connie replied vaguely.

She wasn’t sure how receptive Sasha would be to talking about how Daryl Dixon might possibly not be so bad.

_ “You’ve got to stop thinking about Spencer,” _ she chided,  _ “It’ll ruin your whole day and he’s not worth it.” _

_ “I’m not thinking about Spencer,”  _ she assured her.

_ “What then?” _

Connie shrugged, taking a bite of the BLT her nanny had made for her.

_ “Come on, Connie,”  _ Sasha pestered,  _ “We tell each other everything.” _

Connie sighed,  _ “It’s honestly nothing. I just had a strange conversation with someone in my math class today.” _

_ “Who?” _

_ “Daryl Dixon,”  _ she revealed reluctantly.

Sasha’s face contorted into disgust and confusion,  _ “What could he possibly say that would cause that level of reflection?” _

_ “It’s less of what he said and more about what he didn’t,”  _ Connie explained.

_ “What?” _ Sasha scoffed, not believing they were talking about this boy,  _ “He forget to call you the N-word?” _

_ “He never did use that word,”  _ she mused,  _ “but he didn’t stop his friend from using it.” _

_ “See,”  _ Sasha stated matter of factly,  _ “None of those boys are worth thinking about. It’s best just to ignore them.” _

Maybe Sasha was right and she was reading too much into things, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else going on with him. Part of her knew she should follow Sasha’s advice and leave it alone, but the more curious side of her wanted to know where that conversation would’ve gone if Dwight hadn’t stuck his big, ugly nose into their conversation.

* * *

Daryl flinched when a balled up napkin hit the side of his head.

“Earth to Daryl,” Spencer called, “Where’s your head at man? We’re ranking all the girls in the school by hotness and you haven’t said a word.”

“I’m just not feeling it today, okay?” he tried, begging someone or something to get them to leave him alone.

He was exhausted from trying to maintain his image and he felt like dirt from his interactions with Connie. He honestly couldn’t take much more of Spencer’s annoying habits today.

“Why not?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t know.”

Dwight looked at Daryl questioningly, “Does it have something to do with Connie?”

“What? No,” Daryl snapped, maybe a little too quickly.

“You’ve been off since this morning when Spencer grabbed her,” he explained, “And then you’ve become even more distant since working with her in our math class.”

Dwight’s level of observation was annoying. Daryl wanted to poke his eyeballs out just so that he could stop fucking noticing everything.

“That’s not it at all,” Daryl lied, “I’m just tired, that’s all. Merle kept me up all night banging some chick. His bedroom is right next to mine and our wall aren’t super thick.”

“Didn’t feel like getting in on the action?” David, one of the more perverted guys next to Spencer, spoke up.

“Hell no,” Daryl practically gagged at the thought, “Merle’s my brother. I’d never have a threeway with him. That’s disgusting.”

“True, fucking a girl with your brother isn’t a very appealing thought, besides,” Spencer chuckled, “threeways are much better when it’s two girls and one guy.”

Everyone except Daryl laughed and hollered out their agreement. Daryl just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He was sick of Spencer and his jokes, sick of Dwight and his watching, just sick of being here.

“Gotta take a piss,” Daryl announced, got up and left without the intention of returning. 

He knew he was a dick for leaving his tray behind for the staff to clean up, but if he’d taken his tray with him his friends would’ve been suspicious. His eyes caught on Connie talking to her friend Sasha and he could feel himself wanting to go over to her and explain what happened to her, but he knew he couldn’t.

Instead he bit his lip and left the cafeteria, heading outside to get some fresh air. He made his way to the back entrance of the school and used a rock to prop the door open. Once outside he lit a cigarette and leaned back against the brick wall of the school, watching the smoke curl up into the air.

* * *

_ “So Bob wants us to wear blue to the dance, but I want to wear red. What do you think would look better?” _ Sasha asked her.

Connie tried her best to focus on the conversation she was having with Sasha, but she just couldn’t quite get Daryl off her mind. His strange attitude was getting to her in a way she’d never thought possible.

_ “Depends on how bold you want to be,” _ Connie said picking at her food.

_ “You know me, I like making a statement.” _

_ “Red then,”  _ Connie replied sighing deeply, but Sasha didn’t notice.

It was bad enough that her brain was stuck on Daryl, but talking about homecoming while she knew she wasn’t going to get a date was just making her miserable. Hurried movement across the cafeteria caught her eye as she saw Daryl leave long before lunch was over. He looked upset and she felt herself wanting to go after him. Suddenly a hand was waving in her face, calling her attention back to her friend.

_ “You with me?”  _ Sasha asked, her hand returning to her side of the table.

_ “I’ve got to go,” _ she lied,  _ “I promised someone I’d help them study. See you in study hall.” _

Sasha tried to protest, but Connie ignored her as she packed up her lunch box, grabbed her books, and left. She quickly made her way to where she’d seen Daryl leave from and stepped out into the hall. She knew she was breaking so many rules, but her curiosity won out. She saw the light reflection akin to a door opening and closing to her right and she followed it.

She paused when she came to a door leading outside that was propped open by a rock. She could turn back now and he’d never know about this. She could walk away and just leave things how they are. It would be easier, better even, to walk away now and never look back. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

When she opened them again, she was outside. She turned her head and was met by the shocked gaze of Daryl Dixon, a cigarette poised halfway to his mouth between his fingers.

_ “Hi,” _ she waved, not stepping away from the door in case he told her to go away.

He just stared at her like he couldn’t believe she was actually there. But he didn’t yell at her to leave, so that was a good sign. She went to sign to him, but remembered that he wouldn’t understand her. Instead she stopped and pulled out her notebook. She set the rest of her books down on the bench next to them so that she could write freely.

_ “I’m sorry for being so rude to you in class,” _ she wrote and handed it over to him.

He didn’t immediately reach for it though as he kept staring at her like she wasn’t really there. She shook the notepad in front of him, urging him to take it and he finally snapped out of his stupor and took it.

* * *

Daryl heard the door open to his left and he groaned.

“Go away, Spencer, Dwight, who...ever,” he trailed off upon seeing Connie standing there holding the door.

The cigarette he’d been raising to his lips stopped halfway to his mouth as he stared at her. She was the last person he expected to see out here. Had she followed him? She waved at him, but he was still too shocked to respond.

He watched as closed the door cautiously behind ber before setting her books down on the bench. She wrote something down on her notepad and held it out towards him. His mind was still stuck on the murderer comment she’d made and he wasn’t in the mood for being called that or a racist again by her, it would hurt too much.

She shook the notepad in front of him and he finally reached out to take it

_ “I’m sorry for being so rude to you in class.” _

Daryl couldn’t believe that she was apologizing for the way she’d treated him. Nobody had ever cared how he felt before. He looked up at her and noticed she was waiting for him to respond. He stuck the cigarette between his lips and felt his pockets for a pencil, but came up with nothing.

He saw her wave her hand at him to get him to look at her. She pointed at her lips and then back at him. She could read his lips, he felt stupid forgetting that.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, taking the cigarette back out of his mouth and breathing out the smoke, “You had plenty reason enough to be mad at me.”

She motioned for him to give her back the notepad and he hurried to give it to her, pulling away from the wall. She took it and started writing again.

_ “I know I do, but you did apologize for Spencer.” _

“He shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” he said before he could stop himself.

She looked at him curiously,  _ “Then why don’t you stop him?” _

“I want to, but I can’t,” he sighed deeply, shame welling up in his stomach.

_ “You mentioned that earlier. I came out here to ask you what you meant by it.” _

Daryl chewed his bottom lip nervously. He wanted to tell her, but he was afraid of scaring her off. His home life wasn’t for the faint of heart. He decided to tell her the vague version.

“You said yourself you know who my family is. My father is not a kind man. How do you think he’d react if he found out I think blacks and whites are equal? That men and women should be treated equally?”

He watched the surprise and disbelief spread across her face as he spoke.

_ “Then why do you hang out with guys like Spencer?” _

“They live in my trailer park and are tight with my brother. If I do anything my brother doesn’t approve of they’ll tell him and I’ll get my ass kicked,” he explained, taking a pull of his waning cigarette to calm his nerves.

She looked sympathetic, but not pitying, something he wouldn’t have appreciated. He doesn’t want people’s pity, this was the life he’d been given so he has to deal with it.

_ “That’s why you didn’t want to stand up for me to Dwight?” _

Daryl nodded, taking a final pull from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and grinding his boot on it.

_ “I get it more now,” _ she continued,  _ “I still think you can stand up to them a bit, but maybe not for a black girl.” _

“I want to, hell I wish I could,” he replied, moving closer to her, “But my family would kill me, literally. If Spencer and his boys don’t do it first.”

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch and Daryl sighed, knowing it was the end of their conversation. She hadn’t heard it because she’s deaf and he could lie to keep talking to her, but he knew she cared about making it to her classes on time.

“The bell rang,” he told her, “We should go or we’ll be late.”

_ “Thanks for telling me,”  _ she thanked him.

He normally had to look at her from afar and he wasn’t sure she’d ever speak to him again so he let his eyes wander ever so slightly as she picked up her books, appreciating the way her blue dress hugged her curves. His eyes went back to her face as soon as she stood back up. She waved goodbye and he waved back before she stepped inside the school.

He knew he should go to class too, but he suddenly couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting next to Spencer in his next class. Instead he leaned back against the brick wall and lit another cigarette, replaying the his conversation with Connie over and over in his head. An event that he still couldn’t believe had just happened.


	5. Second Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and probably the next one are going to be focused on Daryl. Connie is mentioned, but this chapter especially will give insight into Daryl’s life and how he became the man he is today despite his family’s beliefs.

Daryl trudged home through the streets of Senoia, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Today had been one of the most confusing, shocking, and draining days of his life and it wasn’t even over yet. He’d talked to his crush for the first time ever and she’d even followed him out to the back of the school during lunch. The memory of her talking to him, just talking, was now one of his favorites. It came right after his brother giving him his first crossbow and his mother hugging him before kissing him goodnight.

He’d been seven years old when his mother was killed in a fire, but she’d stopped being his mother a long time before that. Reliant on alcohol to deal with his abusive father, she became unable to really care for him by the time he was old enough to shoot a bow. Which, in the Dixon household, was the age of five. He’d lost his mother to alcohol and suffered from his father’s addiction to it.

His parents' relationship with alcohol is why he vowed to never become reliant on the stuff. He drank, but only when social norms dictate it. He’s been drunk before too, but he’s never enjoyed the feeling. He liked to be in control of himself at all times and alcohol took that from him.

His brother, on the other hand, loved the feeling of being drunk. He liked not having to think about anything and to let liquor decide what he did that day. Hell, his brother liked the feeling so much he’d turned to other means of disappearing. His drugs of choice right now are cocaine and quaaludes or “club biscuits.” He’d even gotten involved in dealing cocaine after a while. Daryl knew he had a stash of it hidden under the floorboards in his bedroom, but he wasn’t a snitch even if he did hate the stuff.

He opened the door to his house quietly, not wanting to disturb his father if he was asleep or just in a bad mood. His father seemed to hate being reminded that he has children, so any noise is met with anger and often violence. Daryl had long ago trained himself to move silently, even on squeaky floorboards, to avoid incurring his father’s wrath.

The smell of booze and cigarettes filled his nose, but he was used to it by now. He noticed his father passed out on the couch probably drunk off his ass. His snores so loud that Daryl would bet good money the loose shingles on their roof are shaking.

He cautiously walked across the room to the kitchen. After abandoning his lunch today, he was really hungry. He opened their fridge and peered inside. There was some leftover deer meat from a few nights ago and some uncooked squirrel, but that was it. He grabbed the deer but knew he couldn’t afford to use the microwave to heat it up. The loud noise would wake his father up for sure.

Sighing, he resigned himself to eating cold deer right out of the fridge for the third time this week. He also grabbed some bread and butter for good measure. He grabbed a plate that looked relatively clean, blowing off a few breadcrumbs, and placed his food on it to eat outside. He put the remaining deer back in the fridge and made a mental note to go to the store.

He heard a groan from behind him and he froze in place. He could hear his father shifting on the couch behind him and he prayed he was just moving in his sleep. He didn’t relax until he heard the telltale snore of his father came from the other room. He opened the door to their back porch and quietly went outside.

He sat down in a dirty plastic chair on their back porch and ate while watching the wind blow through the trees. His mind is still stuck on his conversation with Connie from lunch. He was so thankful that he’d gotten the opening to explain himself a bit to her. He never wanted her to look at him with hatred ever again. What he did want is the opportunity to talk to her again, about anything. Even if it was only a worksheet in class, he would be beyond thrilled.

Glass breaking caused him to jump in his chair and almost drop his now empty plate. He peeked through the window on the door and saw his brother shouting at his father. Merle must’ve just gotten home and woken their father up. Normally his brother knew better, but his bloodshot eyes and slurred speech told Daryl his brother was higher than a kite and probably drunk too. He watched his father throw a punch that landed on Merle’s face. Merle yelled at him and starting swinging back.

Daryl knew better than to go inside, so he put his plate down on the plastic chair and left. He also knew that he shouldn’t go back home until much later tonight, once they’d both cooled off and passed out. He found his feet taking him in the direction of the neighborhood hangout, an old park on the edge of town.

He longed for some peace and quiet, but those hopes were quickly dashed when he saw Dwight and Gareth smoking on top of a picnic table. He debated briefly about turning around and finding somewhere else to go, but he knew he was trapped as soon as they waved at him.

“Hey guys,” he called out to them, wishing he’d been able to slip away before they saw him.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” Dwight said taking a drag from what Daryl could now tell was a blunt.

“Merle came home high as hell and started a fight with my Pa. I thought it best to clear out for a while,” he explained coming to sit on the table with them.

Dwight held his blunt out towards him, “Want a hit?”

Daryl shook his head and pushed the blunt back towards Dwight.

“No thanks, man,” he said, “I ain’t into doing drugs.”

“It’s just a little weed,” Gareth teased him, “You scared?”

“I’ve seen what shit like that can do. My brother’s addicted to drugs now and that’s how he started,” Daryl brushed the jab off, “I just don’t want to end up like him.”

“Pussy,” Gareth spat taking another hit.

Daryl narrowed his eyes and glared at him, but refused to take the bait. He knew a little weed wouldn’t hurt him physically, but he also knew his family history. Everyone in his family had been addicted to something which meant he was more susceptible to becoming addicted to things. He didn’t even want to risk it a little when it came to drugs. He does drink, but only at parties and even then he wasn’t often drunk. He just doesn’t like the feeling of having no control over his body.

Obviously already high, Dwight moves on from the subject, “There’s a party happening out at the old Hanger house tonight. You should come, Daryl.”

Daryl sighed, “I don’t know, man...”

“The fuck is your deal, Dixon?” Gareth groaned, “You’ve been a stick in the mud all day. You’re not starting to turn on us, are you?”

Daryl knew he was stuck. He had to do something to prove to his friends that he was still the same old Daryl. A Daryl that had died a long time ago when he’d gotten lost in the woods at the age of ten and was rescued by an older black woman, Miss. Maya Colvin. She’d saved his life and given him a whole new outlook on life. He often wished she was still alive so that he could go visit her.

“I’m not, I promise. I’ll be there tonight,” he assured them, “Starts around the usual time?”

“Yep,” Dwight said popping the ‘p.’

“I’ll see you guys there,” he said jumping down from the picnic table.

“Where you going?” Gareth asked, the blunt hanging between his lips.

“Just on a walk. I need to clear my head.”

Gareth furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing and Daryl breathed a silent sigh of relief. He waved goodbye and hastily left the area, seeking solitude among the trees before going to the stupid party.

* * *

_~Summer 1970~_

_Daryl stumbled as he walked forward into the seemingly never ending forest. He’s been lost for over nine days now and has a serious rash from poison oak making his ass itch something awful. He’d been so tired from his long days trekking through the forest trying to find home that he hadn’t realized what it was until it was too late._

_A twig snapped behind him causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. He swung his crossbow around towards the noise but froze upon seeing an older black woman standing there. Her hair was just starting to grey a little in certain areas and she was holding a basket full of wild mushrooms._

_“Are you lost, sweetie?” she asked not making any more towards him._

_His father’s voice rang in his head “never trust a nigger,” but he was so tired and hungry he pushed his beliefs aside._

_“Yes,” he answered, wincing at how pitiful his voice sounded._

_If his brother was here right now instead of in juvie he’d call him a pussy and beat his ass for sounding so helpless. He’d been raised to accept no help because Dixons were always better on their own._

_“My name’s Miss. Maya Colvin. What’s yours?”_

_He didn’t respond, not wanting her to suddenly abandon him if she knew who his family is._

_“How long have you been out here?” she continued, still staying where she was._

_“Nine days.”_

_“Why don’t you come back with me to my house?” she offered, “I can make you some food and let you have a bath before I take you back into town.”_

_He had half a mind to say no and tell her to fuck off, but he was so tired and hungry he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last out here._

_“Thank you,” he accepted her offer and made his way over to her._

_She nodded and pointed to her left, “I live half a mile that way.”_

_“How far away are we from town?”_

_“About half a day’s walk,” she replied leading him towards her house, “That’s why you should rest and spend the night. Best not to travel in the woods at night.”_

_Daryl nodded, he’d learned his lesson about walking through the forest at night with no flashlight. He’d nearly fallen off a cliff in the dark. After that experience he’d stayed put at night and done his best to keep warm._

_They exchanged no more words until her small cabin came into view. It was a small place, no bigger than two rooms maximum. There was an outhouse located away from the main house, but it looked badly overgrown._

_“It used to be my Pa’s hunting cabin, but I made it my home after he passed,” she explained, “I paid some people to add running water and a bathroom, so you don’t have to worry about using the outhouse. It doesn’t have any electricity though, so we’ll be working by candlelight.”_

_He had to admit to being thankful for the running water even if this whole situation of having to trust a black woman was making his skin crawl. His father would kill him if he found out he’d accepted help from a nigger._

_She led him inside and sent him off to shower, but not before she noticed the rash on his hands._

_“Poison oak?” she asked holding his hands in hers._

_He nodded shamefully, still upset that he’d been so stupid and careless._

_“Is it anywhere else?”_

_He nodded again, but he didn’t want to tell her where. She seemed to sense his hesitation and dropped his hands._

_“That stuff is very common around here, so I keep a jar of homemade emollient cream on hand for when I get it,” she said handing him a glass jar filled with a thick white cream, “Apply this generously to the areas affected. While you wash up I’ll make some extra for you to take home.”_

_“Thank you,” he replied headed for the bathroom._

_She’s also given him one of her shirts for him to wear after the shower so that she could wash his clothes. He couldn’t believe how nice this woman was being towards him. He hadn’t had someone take care of him in years._

_He pulled off his dirty clothes and placed them on the ground outside the door for her to pick up. He then turned on the faucet and stepped into the shower. He watched as all the dirt washed off him and swirled around the drain before disappearing. He took special care in washing his ass, wanting to get all remaining oil from the poison oak off his body._

_It itched so bad, but he knew better than to scratch it. Instead he just gritted his teeth and finished washing himself. He dried himself with the fluffy towel she’d given him and sat down to put the cream on his rash. The instant relief was amazing and he relaxed a bit as the itching waned, though not disappearing entirely._

_One he was done, he pulled on the oversized grey shirt she’d given him. It was an extra large so it fell way past hips to the top of his knees. His skinny arms were swimming in the fabric, but he was pleased that the shirt covered him completely. He just wished he had some clean underwear, but he doubted any that she had would fit him._

_He walked back out into the main room and was surprised to see his clothes already drying by the fire. He inhaled and the scent of meat filled his nose. He walked over towards the small kitchen area and saw her cooking up some ham, potatoes, and wild mushrooms._

_“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you a plate,” she said noticing him walking into the kitchen area._

_He happily made his way over to the table and sat down in one of the chairs, careful to keep the shirt from riding up on him. He could feel his mouth watering as he waited patiently for the food to be done cooking. He’s been living off berries and the occasional squirrel for the past nine days. This was going to be the first real meal he’d had in a long time._

_She placed a cup of water on the table for him and he immediately grabbed it and started drinking. Water had been easier to find and he’d boiled some over a fire every few nights, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d missed clean water something terrible._

_“You best be careful, hon,” Miss. Maya warned him, “your body isn’t used to getting a lot of food. You’ve got to pace yourself until your body can handle a large amount of food and drink again.”_

_He nodded, placing the now half empty glass back on the table. He sat up when she placed his plate of food down in front of him. He went to grab the ham with his hands, but she grabbed his arm. He looked up at her panicked, afraid that she was going to take it back and throw him out. That this had all been a cruel joke and she didn’t actually want to help him. Instead she simply grabbed a fork and knife and placed them in his hand._

_“In this house we use our manners,” she stated firmly._

_“Yes ma’am,” he replied, thankful that she wasn’t going to take the first real meal he’d been given in days away._

_He used the cutlery to tear into his food, the meat and potatoes tasted like heaven to him. He caught her eye and slowed his pace remembering her earlier warning. She smiled at him when he did that and joined him at the table with her own plate of food._

_“What were you doing out in the woods alone?” she asked him, taking a bite of her food._

_“I was out hunting,” he explained through mouthfuls, “A storm blew through and I got lost.”_

_“Your parents must be worried about you.”_

_Daryl shook his head, “Nah, my Pa’s off on a bender with some waitress and my brother’s locked up in juvie. There ain’t nobody looking for or worried about me.”_

_Miss. Maya looked saddened by his revelation, “What about your mother?”_

_“My Ma died in a fire three years ago. She fell asleep drinking with a lit cigarette in her hand and sent the whole house up in flames.”_

_“That’s awful. I’m so sorry that happened.”_

_Daryl shrugged, “Happened a long time ago, it’s in the past.”_

_“I don’t care if it happened yesterday or twenty years ago, losing your mother isn’t something one ever really heals from.”_

_“She stopped being my Ma a long time before she died. She loved her booze more than me,” he snapped, he hated talking about his mother’s death._

_He pushed his empty plate away and yawned. Now that his belly was full and he was all clean, he was super tired. He felt like he could fall asleep right here at the table. She noticed his fatigue and dropped the conversation._

_She took his hand and pulled him gently out of the chair, guiding him over to her bed. He crawled up onto the bed and she tucked him in. Staring up at her, a stranger in a strange house, he felt safer than he had in a long time. His father couldn’t reach him here and he wasn’t lost anymore._

_“My name’s Daryl Dixon,” he whispered, his eyelids threatening to slip closed._

_He thought he saw a flash of shock pass through her eyes, but it was replaced by her normal kind eyes just as fast as it appeared, making Daryl think he’d imagined it._

_“It’s nice to meet you Daryl, now rest,” she said brushing his hair to the side lovingly as he drifted off to sleep._

_* * *_

Daryl walked through the forest lost in thought about the woman who’d saved him, in more ways than one. She’d kept her word and taken him back into town the next morning after a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon. Part of him had wanted to stay with her forever, but he knew he couldn’t ask that of her.

He had gone to visit her many times now that he knew the way to her house. He’d been the one to find her in her house dead of a heart attack almost four years after they’d met. He’d been devastated and cried for hours over her body before going home and calling the cops.

Miss. Maya had no family or friends besides him, so she was buried without a ceremony in a pauper’s grave. Her headstone was no bigger than a textbook and all it said was her name. It didn’t tell people how kind she was or how full of life she’d been. He’d come to see her as a second mother over the years and her loss affected his greatly. He’d gone to her grave after dark the day she was buried and sat alone next to her headstone for hours, weeping.

He’d come to find out a year after she saved him that the reason she lived out in the woods alone, so far from civilization, was because she’d been brutally raped. She never told him who the man who did it was, just that it was a white man and he’d never been charged. She’d stopped trusting people after that and needed to escape, so she disappeared into the woods where she’d someday save his life and teach him to be better than his family.

She’s the one who taught him that black and whites are the same, that women should be respected and treated as equals. She’s the reason he hates the N-word and refuses to say it. She’s the one who taught him where it came from and what it meant. Now he could never imagine using it on anyone.

He glanced up at the setting sun and knew he should start the long walk to the Hanger house. He wasn’t in the mood for a party, but he had no choice. He had to keep up appearances after all. He sighed sadly as he turned and started heading slowly making his way towards the party.


	6. The Hanger House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: extensive drug/alcohol use and mention of public sex

Daryl could hear the party before the Hanger house even came into view. People were shouting and swearing as music blasted from boomboxes and speakers placed all around the property. The house itself is a dilapidated old cabin illuminated by campfires and old yellow light bulbs. The whole place felt a little creepy at night if he was being honest. There were holes in the roof, the porch was covered in moss and about ready to cave in, but it was the only place where they could be as loud as they wanted.

It had belonged to old man Bill Hanger who died in the race riots of 1965. He’d been killed when both sides opened fire, though it was common knowledge that the whites had shot first. Hanger had been the first white man killed, which had only proved to rile the mob up more.

He had no family and his house was already in such bad condition that the guy handling his estate just left it to rot. A party had been held in Hanger’s honor a few days later and the tradition of it being a party house had just kind of stuck. The place was filled with neo-Nazi and anti-black propoganda, but that wasn’t particularly uncommon in the area.

Daryl had to dodge a few drunk couples making out against the outside of the house to even enter the house. He made his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. As per usual, he did his best to pick the one with the lowest alcohol concentration. He then made his way deeper into the house looking for one of his friends to prove to them that he was here.

He gagged when he saw a couple literally having sex on a chair just out in the open in the dining room. There were a few people watching them and some others that looked about five minutes way from joining them. He should be used to seeing stuff like that at these parties with how high and drunk people get, but it always made him uncomfortable whenever he saw it.

He left the room quickly, letting the music drown out the sounds of sex. In the next room, the main living area, he found Dwight and Spencer drinking on one of the ratty couches. Every piece of furniture in this house was threadbare and should’ve been trashed years ago. In Spencer’s lap was a woman and she was kissing his neck, but Daryl knew he wasn’t one for having public sex. When Spencer wanted to have sex at one of these parties he’d take the girl out into the woods to one of the tents somebody had set up for that exact purpose. That’s how common random sex was at these parties.

Someone slammed into his shoulder hard, making him spill a little of his beer on the floor.

“What the hell, man?” Daryl yelled, shoving the man off him.

His anger dissipated as soon as he saw who it was. It was Negan, his brother’s biggest rival. This was not someone Daryl wanted to piss off. His brother had just been caught by one of Negan’s boys selling coke in his territory. Daryl swallowed nervously as he waited for his reaction. Negan grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him closer.

“Stay out of my way,” he growled in his face, “And tell your brother that when I see him next, I’m going to blow his head off. This is the third time I’ve caught him dealing on my turf.”

Negan used his free hand to pull his handgun from his belt just enough for it to catch his eye.

Daryl nodded, trying not to let his fear show, “Yeah, sure thing.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when Negan’s grip on him loosened and he was let go. He rubbed his wrist and made his way over to his friends.

“Daryl!” Spencer cheered, his speech slurred.

Daryl nodded at them and sat down in the nasty, brown faux leather recliner next to them. There were stains on it that could be anything from vomit to beer to semen, but he tried not to dwell on it too much.

“Glad you could make it,” Dwight said, taking a swig of his beer, “With your attitude today I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

Daryl shrugged and lied, “Why would I miss this? You know I love this place.”

It took all of Daryl’s self control not to grimace when the girl shoved her hand down the front Spencer’s pants and make it very obvious what she was doing. 

Spencer cleared his throat, “I think it’s time we made our way to a vacant tent.”

The girl in his lap giggled and got up, practically dragging Spencer outside. Daryl watched them go and was relieved they were gone. He took a swig of his beer and grimaced at the taste.

Dwight laughed at him, “Not up to your standards?”

“Not at all,” Daryl coughed, “this stuff tastes like shit.”

“Well, I’ll bet it was cheap as shit too,” he said still laughing drunkenly.

The sight of Gareth making his way over with his arm slung over some girl’s shoulder caught his eye.

“You should find yourself a nice piece of ass like this one here,” Gareth said and slapped her ass, “This one’s already been around the world tonight, but I’m sure she’d be up for another round.”

The poor girl was swaying so bad she could barely stand up straight even with Gareth supporting her. All she had on was a pair of muddy cowboy boots, an old cowboy hat, a black bra, and a matching thong. Guys kept walking by and just grabbing her like her body belonged to them. She would laugh and encourage it, but Daryl could tell it was an act fueled by free beer and cocaine.

Most of the women who came to these parties were treated like objects instead of real people. It made Daryl sick to think about what this woman might go through tonight. Some of the guys here weren’t exactly known for being gentle during their conquests.

“Nah,” he declined Gareth’s offer, “She looks about ready to fall down. I prefer it when my partners can actually do stuff, you know.”

“You don’t like it when all they can do is just lay there and take it?” Dwight teased him.

“No,” Daryl shrugged, laying the bullshit on thick, “If you’re partner just lays there, unless they’re tied up or something, it’s no fun. If they’re not having any reaction to what you’re doing, you’re bad at sex.”

The smile dropped off Dwight’s face at his comment and Daryl felt just a little bit proud of himself for that.

“Fuck you, Dixon,” he growled looking away pointedly.

“No thanks,” Daryl teased, throwing him a faux smile.

Gareth burst out laughing and the girl followed suit, though it was again obviously fake. He’d be willing to bet the only reason the girl allowed people to treat her like this was for drugs. Some of the women enjoyed the thrill of having sex in this place with whoever was available, but this girl was definetly here for her fix. It made him sad to see how desperate she’d become to get her fix that she willing walked into places like this when she wasn’t into it.

He listened to then talk and jeer at each other for a while until Gareth left to have sex with the girl and Dwight became distracted by a brunett who offered him a pull from her blunt. Daryl glanced at his beer, it was just over half empty at this point. His plan was to finish this beer, pretend to go get another one and just never return. He’d tell them at school when they asked where he went that he’d found a girl and went off to have sex with her.

He was just about to lift it to his lips and finish it when it was snatched from his hands. He looked up in confusion only to see an almost half naked woman standing next to him. She had on jeans and a bra, but that was it. She winked at him and then downed the rest of his beer. At least he didn’t have to finish it now. She tossed the empty bottle onto the floor and leaned over him.

“I’ve been watching you,” she whispered seductively in his ear, “You look like you could use some company.”

Daryl swallowed hard, this had been one of the many situations he’d been hoping to avoid. When he didn’t respond, the woman flipped her long blonde hair back and sat down on his lap. She placed a hand on the side of his neck and kissed him.

He could taste the booze and cigarettes on her lips. He didn’t like making out with random girls, but he had to play his part. He kissed her back, ignoring how much he didn’t want to be doing this. He’d made out with girls here before, but he never let it go any further than that. He wanted to push her away, but if he did that with every girl who approached him, he’d be accused of being a homosexual and beaten up.

He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her with as much passion as he could muster. She parted her lips and he tried not to grimace when his tongue entered her mouth. He could feel her rubbing against his leg, trying to get him excited, but he already knew it wouldn’t work. He only had eyes for one woman and she was unfortunately off limits to him.

“What do you say,” she said licking his ear, “Want to slip away and have some fun?”

His mind raced as he tried to come up with an idea on how to end this gracefully.

“I’ve been with your brother,” she continued, now nibbling on his ear, “He’s got a nice, big cock. I’ll bet you’re packing the same.”

Okay, he definitely needed to end this. The fact that he’d just kissed a girl his brother fucked was freaking him out. He didn’t like her or this situation anyway, but that pushed it over the edge. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away from him.

“I’m gonna grab another beer. Meet you outside?” He lied, kissing her to help sell it.

She bit her lip and nodded, “Don’t keep me waiting or I might just find somebody else.”

“Yes, please find somebody else,” he thought, but smiled at her as she got up and went outside.

He breathed a sigh of relief and went back towards the kitchen to leave the party without her seeing him. He ignored what had become a fullblown orgie in the dining room and was about to leave when he saw his brother outside.

This was bad, really bad. Negan had threatened to kill Merle earlier this evening and now the two were about ten seconds from seeing each other. Daryl could see Negan walking over from the right with a girl on his arm as Merle turned to come inside. Daryl bolted out the door and grabbed his brother, pulling him away from the house.

“What the hell, baby brother?” Merle yelled pushing him away, “I was on my way to get myself a beer.”

“Negan’s here and he’s out for your blood,” he explained, “You need to leave.”

“Pfft, I ain’t going nowhere. That bastard doesn’t own that area.”

“Try telling him that,” Daryl grumbled, shifting nervously on his feet.

He was afraid of what would happen if Negan walked out those doors right now. He is a very violent man and his brother is the idiot who pissed him off.

“Doesn’t matter either way. If he tries to start shit, I’ll blow him away first,” Merle said pulling his shirt up just enough to reveal a 9mm handgun.

“You can’t just kill him,” he hissed, his eyes widening in alarm, “you’ll start a war.”

Merle’s lip curled in disgust, “Who gives a shit?”

“I do,” he snapped, “Your dealer will kill you for starting a war. Or he’ll kill you to stop a war before it starts. Either way you’re a deadman if you do that.”

Merle went to argue back, but he was cut off by Negan.

“You should listen to the kid, Merle, he’s smart,” Negan drawled smiling, the woman still leaning against him under his arm.

Daryl didn’t exactly appreciate being called a kid, but wasn’t about to say anything about it while standing in between two armed men. Especially when one was a violent drug dealer and the other one was his impulsive, dumbass brother.

“Fuck off, that neighborhood wasn’t your territory anyway,” Merle yelled at him.

Daryl stepped back out of the line of fire just in case things got ugly. He really didn’t want to have to learn how to patch up a bullet wound tonight.

“You should watch your mouth,” Negan said moving away from the woman, his hand going to his hip where Daryl knew his gun was stashed, “before I have someone break your jaw.”

“Too chicken shit to do it yourself, eh?” Merle jeered.

Dartl grabbed his brother’s arm, “Merle, this really isn’t a good idea...”

Negan’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled back, “Nobody calls me a coward.”

Daryl knew what was going to happen before it even occurred. Negan pulled out his gun and fired, but they managed to dodge out of the way. The bullet flew past his brother’s head and hit a man standing behind them. Screams erupted from the area as the man fell, blood seeping from the bullet wound in his chest.

“See what you made me do, Merle?” Negan complained, pointing the gun at the man on the ground.

Daryl looked over at the man and noticed his eyes were still open, he was dead.

“You made me kill an innocent man,” he continued shaking his head.

Merle face burned and his vision went red, “You tried to kill me!”

“Merle don’t!” Daryl yelled, but it was no use.

He watched in horror as Merle drew his own gun and fired, but he missed too. Luckily the stray bullet didn’t hit anybody, but the fight was far from over. People from Merle and Negan’s respective crews saw what happened and pulled their guns out. They ducked behind trees and benches as they fired at each other.

Bullets flew through the air, whizzing past people both involved and not. Innocent bystanders ran for the trees, in various states of undress, scared for their lives. Some of the more unstable ones were stangering forward in blind panics not fully understanding what was happening.

Daryl ran for the shelter of the forest like everyone else, but being Merle’s younger brother probably made him a target. He yelled in pain when he felt a bullet graze the top of his right shoulder. That was way too close to his head for his liking. He was nearly there when pain erupted in his side and he fell.

“Daryl!” he thought he heard his brother yell, but it was hard to tell with all the screaming.

He knew he’d been shot before he even saw the blood. It hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced before. He grabbed his side and cried out at the sticky feeling of his own blood running down his side and covering his hand. He’d bled before when his father beat him, but this was much more severe. His hand was covered in blood in seconds and he was still bleeding profusely.

He felt someone kneel down next to him and begin ripping his shirt off. His head lolled to the side as the pain overtook his nervous system. He felt a hand press onto his wound and something being tied around his waist. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled up and his arm slung over someone’s shoulders.

His vision blurred as he was half-dragged through the forest by a stranger. All he could concentrate on was trying to help his rescuer out by putting one foot in front of the other, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was being. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking when his legs finally gave out completely and he blacked out.

* * *

Daryl groaned in pain as he rose to consciousness. He slowly peeled open his eyes and was met by the image of his bedroom ceiling. He could feel his old mattress beneath him, some of the springs pressing into rather uncomfortable areas on his back. The pain in his side where he’d been shot was intense, but not as bad as it had been last night.

He couldn’t remember how he got here. The last thing he remembered was getting shot and someone carrying him to safety before he blacked out. It was obviously morning though since the sun was shining through his partially destroyed blinds. The door opened and his brother walked in.

“Fucking hell, little brother,” he said relieved, throwing his hands up, “You’re finally awake.”

Daryl glared at him, “And who’s fault is it that I got shot?”

“Negan’s.”

“Wrong,” Daryl reminded him, “If you hadn’t sold coke in his territory, none of this would’ve happened.”

“I saved your life!” he yelled.

“You’re also the one who put me in danger!”

Merle scowled at him, “Whatever, just don’t reopen your stitches. The bullet went clean through your side, so you’ve got stitches in both areas.”

Daryl nodded his understanding, this wasn’t his first time taking care of stitches. Unfortunately, tending to severe wounds is something he’s very familiar with. He’d had more than a couple lashes on his back that his brother had sewn up and vice versa.

Merle went to leave, but Daryl stopped him.

“Who died?” he asked looking up at his brother.

Merle paused in the doorway, his hand resting on the door knob.

“I wasn’t going to tell you just yet, but I suppose you should know,” he sighed turning back around.

Merle pulled the chair away from his desk and sat down next to Daryl’s bed, if you could call a twin mattress laying on the floor a bed.

“There were a couple fatalities last night,” Merle began, “A couple of Negan’s guys were killed and a few of mine, but it’s the ones that died in the crossfire that you know.”

Daryl got a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Dwight was killed last night,” he revealed, “We’re not sure which side did it.”

Daryl felt like he’d been punched, he couldn’t believe it.

“He wasn’t even involved,” Daryl choked out in disbelief.

“I know, we assume a stray bullet hit him when he was running away.”

A couple of inches to the left and he could’ve been killed last night too. Daryl could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he knew his brother wouldn’t respect him if he cried.

“Get out,” Daryl whispered, turning his head away from his brother.

“Daryl...”

“Get out!” he yelled throwing a notebook, the only thing he found within reach, at him.

Merle ducked his head in shame and left the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, tears slipped down his cheeks and fell onto his thin, ratty blankets. Just yesterday Dwight had been annoying the hell out of him and now he was dead. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea. But he couldn’t help but feel a little bit selfish thinking, “Thank god it wasn’t me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are wonderful, comments are my lifeblood.  
> Both are greatly appreciated <3


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